Flush & Falldown
by Cora Clavia
Summary: And she hates herself for thinking of it this way, but she can't help but think maybe she and Castle need to stop playing phone tag with other people's hearts.  Ch. 2, Falldown, Kate's POV.
1. Flush

**Flush & Falldown**

**Summary:** And if it was all just a decoy, there was no reason for him to know what she tasted like. Companion to "Knockdown." Yep. It's _that_ story.  
**Rating:** R for language and content. Think of the children.  
**Spoilers:** "Knockdown," especially the last ten minutes or so. Hehe. You know which part I mean.  
**Disclaimer:** Eu nu am _Castle_. And BAM with the Romanian.

* * *

**Flush**

_I'm open to dumb ideas here._

_Good. Cause I've got one._

* * *

Castle's plan isn't anything more than _act drunk_. For all his trashy detective novel glory, he's got nothing more than acting drunk. It really is a dumb idea. And it's not working.

He feels, rather than sees, the slight tense of muscle in her otherwise slack arm, and he hears the snap of her unholstering her gun when it hits him. Duh. The dumb idea isn't working.

Go for the moronic one. The one not even good enough to write.

When he grabs her, the look on her face is somewhere between confusion and knowing. Oh, she knows. Beckett hasn't read his books all her life and worked with him for three years without knowing what he's going to try. It's a desperate, seat-of-the-pants excuse for a plan but it's all he's got. And right now, he'll go with it.

But she doesn't fight him – and if his brain could work properly, he might realize this is a bad time to find something so hot – and before he can think twice about it, his mouth is on hers.

It shouldn't be so gentle. It should be frenzied. But she's too shocked to push, and he's too shocked at the feel of her lips on his to remember that this is supposed to look like something other than the last first kiss he's ever going to want.

He lets her go, and suddenly he realizes that he's not sure what to do.

She stares at him with a blank, scared face, but before he can form a coherent thought beyond _uhhhhh_, she pulls him in again and goes for it.

The blood is rushing in his ears and his face is burning in the chilly night air, and she is so warm and pliant and giving, and oh God that's her _tongue_ against his, hot and wet and _fuck_ sending all his blood straight south. He catches her lower lip between his – oh, God, so good – and feels her shudder. The little noise that escapes her sends a jolt straight to his groin, and murderer or no, he knows, faster than he can process the thought, that he wants her. He wants her so bad.

Hell if it doesn't feel like the twelfth time today he's been near the business end of a gun. And even though he _knows_ it means nothing, it's just the single thing standing between them and death…oh _fuck_ if it isn't the hottest turn-on. Fuck if he doesn't want to drag her over to the car and keep her pressed up against him till –

The rush of cold air against him catches his attention before he opens his eyes and sees her spinning away from him. She takes down the guard with a single kick, leaving her panting for breath – or was that from him? – and it might possibly be the sexiest he's ever seen her.

(And if it was all just a decoy, there was no reason for him to know what she tastes like now.)

* * *

Castle can see Lockwood aiming for her, can see the look of affirmation as she must have appeared in his sight, and as he sees the finger moving for the trigger, he stops thinking. Her. Save her. Stop him.

And he blinks, and Lockwood is on the floor. This man just tried to kill her. Tried to destroy her. Tried to take her away. To erase her. To shoot the most incredible woman in the world. From sheer, vicious, meaningless evil. This man needs to die.

He doesn't even feel pain in his hand until he sees the blood all over Lockwood's face, glistening and sticky. The haze starts to disappear as he looks up and Beckett is there, alive, safe, beautiful, and unhurt.

He meets her gaze. She understands.

* * *

She wraps the bandage gently around his palm, her fingers soft and warm on his wrist, and he wants to kiss her again. He wants to touch her, hold her, have her. She is oxygen and his lungs are burning.

He doesn't know when it went from teasing to attraction, from attraction to respect, from respect to affection, finally from affection to pathetic, hopeless love. But somewhere it did. And now he can't do anything without her. He doesn't like taking days off. It means he doesn't get to sit by her desk and stare at her.

The warmth of her hand on his helps dull the ache in muscles most used to typing, and the warmth in her eyes captures him.

He doesn't know when Kate Beckett became the center of his life. But she did. And he doesn't want it to change.

* * *

When Castle gets home, he comforts his anxious mother and daughter, who finally retire to bed after seeing that he is safe and sound. He tries. He is still far too wired.

He almost calls her. But she is busy, and even if she is already home, he doesn't know what he's going to say.

(That's a lie. He will ask her to come over. And they'll talk. And either she'll try to ignore it, or she'll flat-out tell him it was all a fake. And he has no idea how he'd stop her.)

So he tells himself she needs rest.

It takes him hours of pacing, re-alphabetizing his already alphabetized bookshelves, pushups on his bedroom floor, and finally the better part of a bottle of scotch to get to sleep in the wee hours of the morning. He dreams they're back in the alley. But the guard disappears, her jacket is gone and she's wearing that bloodstained shirt again. He tears it off her as they stumble back to the car, and as he throws her down onto the backseat and lowers himself onto her, her hair swirls around her bare shoulders like silk. And then she makes that little noise again, squirming against him, and her hands are flexing against the skin of his shoulders, her breath hot and unsteady, her taut thigh muscles clenching around his waist in a sudden spasm as she lets out a strangled gasp. He wakes up groaning, tense, heart pounding, drenched with sweat, and so aroused it's painful.

* * *

He goes into the station that afternoon, after a morning of fitful sleep filled with restless dreams. And officer he doesn't know takes his statement, and he goes in to talk to Montgomery, who is tired but pleased that everyone survived and Lockwood is no longer a threat.

Beckett's not there. Montgomery said she came in, gave her statement, and he sent her home. She was on leave for a few days. She needed the time off. And she'd earned it.

Castle pauses by her desk on his way out, noticing the usual tidiness. She's good at keeping her things neat. He's always liked that about her.

He wants to talk to her, but he doesn't know what they'd talk about.

He doesn't know what to say right now – he's already done flowers – so he sends her a text message. _You OK? Anything you need? I'm on my way out of the station right now._

Her reply takes only seconds.

_I'm fine. Thanks._

He thinks he should maybe leave town for a few days to calm down from this case. Clear his head. His brain is spinning and he's not sure what to do.

Then another message arrives.

_You want to get some dinner tonight?_

* * *

**Author's Note:** This one was a bit of a departure for me. I wanted to really capture the overwhelming wash of adrenaline that that kind of high-stakes situation must feel like, when even a cerebral person just wouldn't have time to form the most cogent, well-thought responses. And the look on Castle's face after the first kiss? YUM. That was not Castle acting. That was Castle REALIZING.


	2. Falldown

…So apparently I lied. This is no longer a oneshot. Thank you so much to everyone for the generous reviews; many of you asked for another chapter, and specifically from Kate's POV. So here goes.

* * *

**Falldown**

When I think of you,  
I don't feel so alone.

Owl City, "Vanilla Twilight"

He kisses her and oh, God, he's kissing her. He's too gentle. It feels entirely too much like the way a first kiss is supposed to feel. She thinks that this picture would look perfect on the front of a wedding album.

They break apart and Kate looks up to see him looking at her like – like – she doesn't know for certain because it's been so long since she's seen _Casablanca_ but even though they've never had Paris (yet?), she's pretty sure that's what the other Ric looked like outside the train.

Before she can stop herself, she goes for it. He's reaching for her even before she gets to him. They come together so easily it doesn't feel like the first time.

(Of course not. It's the second.)

He bites gently at her bottom lip and she can't help the soft moan than escapes her. Oh fuck. So good. He pulls her tighter against him and she's reaching for him, one hand going to his hair, and his tongue is filling her mouth so she can't breathe but she doesn't miss it.

The guard turns away. Adrenaline flares through her veins as she takes him down with a single blow.

_That was amazing_.

She freezes, and as she turns to look at him, she can't help but agree with him.

* * *

Castle's in the back of the ambulance, wincing at the too-tight binding on his right hand, and she smiles softly as she goes to help him. She wraps the bandage gently around his palm, surprised at how steady her hands are. Even with all her years of training and experience, tonight has pushed her too far. She managed to compartmentalize, something she's always been good at, but the second Lockwood was in the patrol car, her hands started shaking so hard she had to clench her fists to hide them.

His hand under hers is so gentle, so warm, so perfect, so – she makes herself let go. If she doesn't let go, she might do something stupid. Because her mind is still on overload, spitting out sparks and backfiring.

_Thanks for having my back in there_.

_Always_.

* * *

She tells the arresting officer that Castle acted purely to protect her. His assault on Lockwood was completely justified. The officer nods; everyone knows what's just happened, and there's no way Castle's going to get in any trouble.

But as Kate walks back to her car, she remembers the look on his face as he brutally beat the man who was about to kill her. It shook her. Thinking about it still makes her a little cold. She knows Castle is not a brutal man. But she also knows that if Lockwood had taken his shot, if he had gotten her, Castle would have killed that man with his bare hands. She knows it without doubt. And that scares her. Even though she knows he may not have realized it himself, Castle would not have hesitated to kill that man.

She wonders when he became this way. Why he can so easily slip now from easy-going man to dark, fearless protector when she's in danger.

And she refuses to admit that she knows the answer to that question.

* * *

She trots back to the station, and is busily filling out after-action reports and giving her statement for the second time when Montgomery walks into the interview room and tells her to finish up in the next five minutes and go home. She tries to protest – may as well get everything done now, she thinks – but he gives her the silent eyebrow look, and she knows better than to argue.

Montgomery follows her to her desk and watches as she pulls on her coat with hands still a little shaky. He's eyeing her suspiciously. He saw Lockwood's face and heard her statement. He's not stupid. He knows there was a reason Castle had to get his hand bandaged. He knows what it means.

He's probably known a longer than she has, actually.

* * *

As she fits her key in the lock, in a moment of silent, blinding self-honesty, Kate realizes that she wishes she weren't with Josh right now.

She bites her lip, trying not to think about the fact that if she weren't with Josh right now, she wouldn't have to be walking into an empty apartment looking for someone who's thousands of miles and an ocean away. And knows absolutely nothing about the night so long ago that shattered her world. All he knows is that her mother is dead. He seemed to assume that it was something like cancer. She has never corrected him.

Kate has the highest respect for Doctors Without Borders. She really does. But right now the borders all seem to be around her.

And she hates herself for thinking of it this way, but she can't help but think maybe she and Castle need to stop playing phone tag with other people's hearts.

Her head feels too full and her throat is tight. Richard Castle lets himself get close to death. He sets aside any notion of his own safety and runs headlong into danger when he thinks it will help her.

But he has a family. A mother who loves him. A daughter who needs him.

And a partner.

Kate sits down on her couch, sets aside her jacket, pulls off her boots, and bursts into tears.

Because he is stupid. And he is fearless. And he should have walked away. He should have gone home when she told him. He should have – should have just –

- if he'd done what he should have done, she'd probably be dead right now.

_Thank you, Alexander_.

After her cry, Kate feels cleaner, drained, and quieter. Her eyes are tight and crinkly and salty, but she takes in a long, shaky breath and lets it out without breaking down again, and she knows it's okay.

She takes a long bath, turning on music and sinking into the hot water with a long sigh and no intention of getting out until her whole body is red and wrinkly and completely, totally clean.

* * *

Finally climbing out of the tub, Kate wraps herself in a robe, drains her tub, brushes her teeth and goes for her pajamas. She's calmer. The adrenaline rush has worn away, leaving her empty. Her whole body is tired. Montgomery sent her home sometime after midnight. It's after three now. Her body has no idea how to feel other than limp. So she slumps into bed and falls asleep within minutes.

The first time she wakes up, she finds pale sunlight streaming through her windows and her phone ringing. She blinks a little dazedly before picking up.

_Beckett_.

_Detective? Hi. It's Alexis._

_Is something wrong? Is your dad alright?_ Her heart beats a little faster.

_He's fine. He was asleep when I left._ Alexis sounds a little worried. _Are you okay?_

_What?_ Me? _I'm fine, why?_

_Dad seemed really freaked out. He said you almost got shot_.

_No, I'm fine, Alexis. It went okay._ Beckett runs a hand over her eyes and smiles. A watery smile. _Your dad saved my life_.

* * *

After talking to Alexis, Kate falls back into a restless sleep.

This time she dreams. She dreams they're back in the alley, the cold whipping at her ears as she huddles close to him. His arms are too warm and strong around her, and it scares her that she could get used to this.

She reaches for her gun, but he grabs her, and his hand on her face tells her everything she needs to know. He's looking at her lips. And his hands on her – so rough, so possessive – it's strangely alluring. She takes a shaky breath. And then he's gentle, pulling her forward, inevitable, and all she can think is _finally_, and her eyes close.

She hears the _bang_.

Her vision fills with red. She feels him jerk again her like a puppet on strings. Then his whole body falls against hers. He's too heavy. She stumbles and hits the ground, and he falls onto her.

He's not moving.

She pushes him off of her with icy hands. Her coat and sweater are soaked through with his warmth, deep crimson across her chest, the wool heavy and sticky. It presses against her ribcage, constricting her lungs so tight she can't breathe. She feels over his chest with hands light and quick and desperate, trying so hard to pull him back, hold on.

He doesn't move, doesn't respond, just stares past her with vivid blue eyes frozen in surprise and filmed over with death. Blood trickles from his lips. His skin is cold. He's not breathing.

_Oh God, no, Castle, please, no, please – _she chokes – C_astle, please, I lo- _

She wakes gasping for breath, tears in her eyes, her whole body tense and shaking.

She almost calls him, just to hear his voice. Even though she knows he's fine, she needs to hear him just to be sure. But her hands are still shaking so hard she can't dial easily. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself down.

And then her phone buzzes with an incoming message. _You OK? Anything you need? I'm on my way out of the station right now._

She can't help but laugh a little, letting her body loosen. He tackled a cold-blooded killer unarmed, and he's asking if _she's_ okay. She takes another long breath and sends a response. _I'm fine. Thanks._ She feels a little bad, but she doesn't know what else to say. A text message is entirely too short to capture what it was like to feel his hands in her hair and his tongue in her mouth, then watch him risk his own life to save hers. Her whole mind is too small for it.

But she can't let it go, and she wants to make sure he's okay, and she finally decides that Africa is too far away for one more round of phone tag to be wrong. _You want to get some dinner tonight?_

His reponse comes back so quickly that she half wonders if he knew she was going to ask.

_I'd love to. Tell me when_.

She sets her phone down, lies back against her pillows, and lets out a long sigh. She smiles but there's not a lot of mirth in it.

_Tag, Castle. I'm still 'It.'_

_

* * *

_

**Author's Note:** It ended up a little different tone than I intended, but all in all I'm happy with it.


End file.
